


Proper Use

by Owlix



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Lies, Propaganda, Spies & Secret Agents, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: Getaway prefers being used to being lied to.





	Proper Use

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic that I finally remembered to post here too.

Getaway was used to being lied to.

He’d been born with lies pre-loaded into his neural net – lies so transparent that even a minutes-old newbuild couldn’t believe them. His first lesson in life had been “don’t trust what you’ve been told.”

Since then, Getaway had been lied to by every commanding officer he’d ever had. So many lies that he lost track.  _There’s no mode-of-creation bias in the Autobot faction. No alt biases either. You’re barely damaged, so get back out there and fight. Running is cowardly. Dying in battle makes you a hero. Reinforcements are on the way. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings._

Getaway got good at spotting lies. Good at lying back, too, when he had to. There was no other way for an MTO with a medium build and a mediocre alt like his to survive in this war.

So when Getaway was called into Prowl’s office, he fully expected to be lied to. Lies became more common as an officer’s rank increased, and Prowl wasn’t just a high rank - he was  _High Command_. And everyone knew of his bad reputation - pure cold-sparked manipulator, always pulling strings, completely untrustworthy.

Getaway stood awkwardly at Prowl’s desk. Prowl leaned towards him just slightly, field flat, doors impassively level at his back, expression unreadable.

“You aren’t being used efficiently,” Prowl said. “I’d like to change that.”

Getaway had been used like a tool since the war began, but he’d never heard anyone that outranked him call it what it was. Some of his surprise must have shown in his optics. Prowl quirked a brow.

“I had taken you as someone capable of handling the truth,” Prowl said. “I hope I wasn’t mistaken.”

“No, I–” Getaway wasn’t used to speaking directly to members of High Command. He struggled for words. “No,  _sir_. You weren’t wrong. Sir.”

Prowl nodded. “Good,” he said. “Sit down. Let’s discuss this further.”

 

Prowl wasn’t lying.

He  _did_ use Getaway, with ruthless efficiency. Getaway found that he didn’t mind. Prowl used  _everyone_ like a tool. Even that mnemosurgeon he was so obviously still in love with. Even those few Wreckers who were so obviously his favorites. Even  _his fellow members of Autobot High Command_ , whether they realized it or not. Prowl even treated  _himself_ that way – another piece on the board. Regardless of class, mode of construction, alt, faction history, prestige – Prowl treated everyone the same. It was the first true equality Getaway had ever seen.

Prowl’s leadership lacked every empty emotional speech about how much Getaway’s sacrifice meant and how much each Autobot mattered and how important their cause was.

Prowl replaced those things with hard and undeniable  _results_. 

Getaway couldn’t always see where Prowl’s plans ended, but the pieces he  _did_ see were universally brilliant. And the occasional culmination of a plan that Getaway was lucky enough to witness? He’d never experienced anything so rewarding in his short life.

Getaway still remembered the first time. Hearing the news trickle in through the Autobot gossip network, excited chatter from mechs who couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened, who had  _no idea_  that Getaway had been the one to set it all in place, personally, piece by piece. The thrill of knowing that they’d  _won_ , he and Prowl and the rest of the Diplomatic Corps, and that Getaway himself had played a decisive part. It was a rush, so much better than any fear-induced catalycin high he’d ever had on the battlefield. It felt like power. Like  _victory_.

He still remembered the first time he’d been there to  _see_  it, too. Gun in hand, someone else’s energon pooling at his feet. The heat of the weapon. The Boss’s approving voice, crackling in his audio. Tight, careful control leading to precise, efficient gains. Nothing like the chaos of battlefield killing. Infinitely more satisfying. 

Prowl used him well. Getaway was more than willing to trust his life to those capable hands. He had accepted a long time ago that he would most likely die a meaningless death in this meaningless war. 

Instead, Prowl handed him the promise of a death with purpose.

Getaway took that promise, gladly. He was grateful for it. Grateful to be part of something that mattered, part of the only fully functional piece of the entire Autobot war machine. Handpicked by Prowl, privy to plans that only a handful of mechs ever suspected the existence of. Plans that the rest of High Command didn’t even know, using tech and methods that had never passed across the desk of Optimus Prime.

Grateful to learn from the best. Prowl used him, and Getaway used others, just as ruthlessly if never quite as well. He didn’t feel guilty, any more than Prowl did. In this war, being used  _properly_  was the best any of them could hope for.

Getaway would always be a tool, but it felt good to be a tool in hands that knew how to use him.


End file.
